Double Edged Sword
by aviatrix8
Summary: Carlyle was the most decorated commander in the service of Queen Ismaire. And he betrayed his country and his honour... For her. FE8.


Copyright, Aviatrix8, 2005. Fire Emblem and all related characters are property of Nintendo et al., and are used without permission.

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Here's another Fire Emblem 8 story from me, this time inspired by Chapter 14 of Eirik's route; it's about a very minor character whom I found intriguing, nonetheless...

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Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones

"Double-edged Sword"

by Avi

Carlyle glared as he watched the traitorous mercenary Caellach lead his beloved queen away from the throne room. Perhaps he should've protested more strongly, demanded to come with them... But he had come too far; he couldn't risk losing Ismaire, now.

The only thing he could do was defend the throne to the best of his ability... And he was the finest swordsman in all of Jehanna.

The swordmaster walked towards the throne of Jehanna, and sat upon it gingerly. How long had he stood at its right-hand, as she was seated upon this throne. How long had he watched her pale hand rest right here... Carlyle caressed the gilded armrest longingly.

Her throne, but no longer. He had freed her from that obligation. Surely, she would thank him for it, one day.

For Carlyle had given up everything: his title, his honour and his country... Just for her.

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He recalled the first time he met Ismaire; he was to be knighted that day, and he had been wandering the palace, rather bemused about the whole situation. His meanderings brought him to an open courtyard in the heart of the palace, and that's when he first saw her.

Carlyle had found himself standing in a lush garden, in full bloom; but that was not what arrested his gaze. Across the courtyard, stood an an elegantly-dressed woman with long, red hair standing beneath an archway; she was examining a cluster of climbing roses that festooned the pillar beside her.

The swordmaster remembered how his breath caught in his throat, back then. Here was the loveliest woman he had ever seen, and he wished desperately to meet her... But he could tell by the cut of her clothes that she was a noblewoman; why would she even want to even talk to a lowly swordsman, even one that was to be knighted by the king?

But his desire to at least speak to her finally outweighed his discretion. As he mustered enough courage to walk towards her, he then found himself stopping in his tracks.

For the king had just entered the courtyard, and placed a loving arm around the noblewoman's shoulders. And she, in turn, turned to him and planted an affectionate kiss upon his cheek.

So, then. Not only was this bewitching creature a noblewoman, but the Queen of Jehanna... Carlyle found his face burning in shame.

Unfortunately for the swordsman, the king must've noticed his presence, and beckoned him over. With some reluctance, Carlyle approached the royal couple.

"No need to be shy, Carlyle," said the king with a smile, not realizing that he misinterpreted the swordsman's embarrassment. "By the way, I don't believe you've met my wife? This is my Queen, Ismaire." He waved a hand at the woman who had stolen Carlyle's heart.

"My dear Ismaire, this is Carlyle, who is to be knighted today, for distinguishing himself in battle."

Queen Ismaire nodded at the swordsman and smiled. "A pleasure," she replied, and held out her hand.

Carlyle sank to one knee. "The pleasure is all mine, your Majesty," he said huskily, and planted a kiss on the proffered hand.

"Now, now, no need for formalities outside of the court," said the king, with a chuckle. Reluctantly, the swordsman released the queen's hand and rose to his feet.

"Carlyle, I heard you are to recieve your title because you single-handedly defeated an entire band of bandits at our borders," commented Queen Ismaire, in a polite tone.

"Well, I wouldn't say single-handedly," replied Carlyle modestly, grateful for the queen's attention.

"Nonsense!" the king interjected. "By all accounts, it was an impressive display of swordsmanship, Carlyle!"

"Is that so?" said the queen, raising an eyebrow. "I would've liked to have seen that display of skill."

Carlyle suppressed a blush. "It was nothing, my Queen," he muttered.

And so, the three continued to talk about trivial things, while the swordsman could only look at Ismaire with burning desire...

A desire that still burned later that day, as Carlyle knelt before his Majesty and swore alligance to king and country, while Queen Ismaire looked on, standing at his liege lord's side.

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As Carlyle worked his way up through the ranks of the knights of Jehanna, he found he could only catch brief, occasional glimpses of his beloved queen... In fact, the second time he met her face-to-face, only took place years later.

Like his first fateful encounter with Ismaire, this one was completely by accident... Not having been in the mood to hone his skills in the company of others, the swordsman had headed out of the barracks and towards an out-of-the-way training salle.

But perhaps the training salle was not as isolated as he thought, for as Carlyle approached his destination, he was surprised to hear a piping, childish voice come from the room... He was even more surprised to hear a laughing, female voice reply to it.

He knew he shouldn't have intruded then, but the swordsman had recognized her voice, and it compelled him... Carefully, he opened the door, and glanced inside.

What he saw took his breath away.

It was indeed Ismaire, but not the pale, dignified queen he had seen in court, oh no. Her red hair was unbound as usual, but it flickered around her like a flame in the wind. She wore robes, but not the heavy, elaborate robes of her office; these were homespun, and slitted at the legs for ease of movement, causing her skirts to fly about her, regardless of decency. And in her hands a silvery blade glittered, as the sunlight caught its edges.

And then Carlyle recalled something; that memorable moment when he was allowed to kiss the hand of the queen. He had been expecting her to have the soft hands of a noblewoman, but she did not; as the swordsman had held her hand, he had been surprised to notice that her palm was rough and calloused. It did not occur to him why this should be so... Until now.

The queen was a sword dancer, like him.

Carlyle could only watch, entranced, as Ismaire moved fluidly from one stance to the next, taking precise, measured steps across the sandy floor. And the whole time, there was a look of utter, carefree happiness on her face, one that he had never seen while she was in court.

It was then that Carlyle vowed that one day, he would make sure that expression would never leave her face again.

As he stood in the doorway, admiring her every move, the swordsman then realized that he couldn't do so forever; so finally, Carlyle coughed politely, causing Ismaire to halt in mid-step.

"Forgive my intrusion, my Queen," he apologized. "I... Thought this training room was unoccupied. But that was impressive display of swordsmanship, I must say."

Ismaire blushed, and pushed a few stray red hairs from her face. "I fear that my skills are rather rusty," she admitted. "Still, that is very kind of you to say, Sir Carlyle; especially since according to my husband, you're one of the best swordsmen in the land."

Though he preened at the queen's compliment, Carlyle found himself wincing internally at the mention of the king. "Ah, perhaps I should leave you to your practice, then..." he said, backing away.

"No, that isn't necessary," protested Ismaire, stopping him in his tracks. "The training of your skills are far more important to the kingdom than that of my own, Sir Carlyle. Besides, I was only going through the motions because my son asked me to."

It was only then that Carlyle noticed a young boy with the same red hair as the queen, gazing at them with wide eyes from from across the room. And then he remembered that earlier, he had also heard a child's voice coming from this very room.

"Oh," said the swordman, uncertain of what to say.

Ismaire gave her son an affectionate smile, which cause the boy's expression to brighten. "I've been trying to teach my son Joshua here the art of the sword," she explained, turning back to address Carlyle. "But I find there's so little time to do so, what with my duties at court, and in light of my husband's... Current illness..."

At this the queen's expression clouded briefly, but then she continued on. "And I was so hoping to oversee my son's sword training myself," she sighed. "But even now, I'm due to be in court in less than an hour, so I'll leave you to practice your skills in here, Sir Carlyle. Come, Joshua."

As the pair made to leave, Carlyle blocked the doorway. "Hold," he began, as queen and son stared at him curiously. "If may be so bold, my Queen, might I offer the skill of my own sword arm, to train the young prince?"

Ismaire's eyes widened. "Oh no, I couldn't possibly impose such a responsibility upon you, Sir Carlyle," she protested.

"It is no trouble, your Majesty," he replied, inclining his head in a respectful manner. "It would be an honour... Nay, a privilege, to teach your son the art of the sword."

"Well... I have been looking for a suitable instructor," said Ismaire slowly. "If Joshua is to be King one day, then he must have the skills to defend his country." The Queen gave Carlyle a measuring look, and then nodded.

"Very well. I may have to confer with my husband upon this, but for now, you have my leave to train the prince in the art of swordsmanship, Sir Carlyle."

"It would be my pleasure, my Queen," replied the swordsman, bowing deeply. "Should I begin his training now? I have some spare time on my hands, at the moment."

Ismaire gave him a grateful smile. "If it isn't too much trouble, then yes, it would be appreciated." As Carlyle nodded, the queen then turned to her son, and knelt before him.

"Now Joshua, I am entrusting Sir Carlyle here to train you in the art of the sword. Please listen to his instruction carefully, all right?" When the boy opened his mouth to say something, she continued to speak.

"I know how much you wanted me to teach you, darling, but I promise, this man is very skilled. He will turn you into fine swordsman, one even better than myself."

"Will he make me be able to sword dance like you, one day, Mother?" asked the young prince wistfully.

The queen laughed. "Yes, he will. I'm sure of it."

Ismaire then hugged her son, a intimate gesture that made Carlyle feel uncomfortable, and he turned away. It was only after she had finished doing so that the swordsman could look at his queen, only to lower his head to her again respectfully, as she left the training salle.

This left Carlyle alone in the room with the crown prince of Jehanna. The swordsman eyed the young heir, who gazed back at him fearlessly.

"You there. Boy. Do you know how to hold a sword?"

The child nodded. "Yes, sir. My mother taught me."

"No, you don't," replied the swordsman coolly. "I'm certain that your mother taught you well, but it doesn't mean you know how to grip a sword correctly. And you won't know how to unless I tell you that you've done so properly."

He shot the the boy another look, and to his credit, the little prince did not flinch.

"I will not lie to you, child," continued Carlyle. "I will not be an easy teacher, like some of your tutors. You will find me to be a harsh master. But I only do this because I wish you to become the best swordsman in Jehanna. Do you understand me?"

The boy nodded again; tentatively at first, but then firmly, with look of determination in his eyes. Carlyle gazed at him approvingly. Truly, this was the queen's son.

_I do this for you, Ismaire,_ he told himself silently. _I will turn your son into the finest swordsman in the land, for you._

TO BE CONTINUED...

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This story was originally written using the Japanese names, but I've switched it to the English translation, since I think I got the transliteration wrong (I had used Ismea, instead of Ishmaea). 


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